


The Scarlet C

by KMDWriterGrl



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 13:30:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1173623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KMDWriterGrl/pseuds/KMDWriterGrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A motorcade crash shows CJ who she can trust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Scarlet C

Danny Concannon watched the motorcade ahead with tired eyes. He was getting too old for twenty hour days. He stretched in the seat, sighed, rolled his neck. It had been a long day of campaigning with lots of stops for both the President and the First Lady.

The motorcade was finally heading to hotels for the night, ending the first day of their three day whirlwind campaign trip across the Northeast. The re-election campaign schedule was an absolute bear and it was starting to tell on everyone. All around him, reporters were sleeping in fits and starts. Some were using laptops to send last minute additions back to their office; others were chatting with colleagues via cell phone. He’d sent in his stories more than an hour ago. Aside from the book of crossword puzzles open on his lap, Danny found himself with little to do and too much energy to sleep.

The red tail-lights of the limo in front of him jerked blurrily across his vision. Danny wondered for a moment if he _had_ fallen asleep for a second, then he heard the screech of tires and the alarmed cries of the others on the press bus and he knew he hadn’t. The world spun and rolled and went black.

***

“CJ, open your eyes... CJ, can you hear me?... I need you to open your eyes.”

CJ. Ok. Yes. That was her name. And her eyes were definitely shut. The voice needed her to open them. But it was dark... and cold...and the cold dark hurt like a motherfucker. So, maybe she’d keep her eyes shut a bit longer....

“Come on, CJ, open your eyes now. No time to sleep.”

Damn. She tried to open eyelids that weighed two tons each and found that her suppositions were true-- the world _was_ cold and dark, cut through with slashes of white light, and it did hurt like a motherfucker. The pain was awful and it was threatening to take her breath away.

“CJ, are you with me?”

Leo. It was Leo’s voice talking to her, Leo’s face leaning over hers from the tip-tilted door of the limo.

“What happened?” She blinked hard, trying to clear the muzzy sensation out of her head. The cold went a long way toward making that possible. “Leo, what happened?”

“We hit some black ice. The motorcade crashed.”

“Where's the President?”

“He’s fine. He’s going to the hospital with the First Lady. She re-broke her ankle getting out of the car.”

She decided to try to sit up so she could at least get out of the wrecked car, a move that turned out to be a very bad idea when the small chunk of the world that was visible over Leo's shoulder whirled in sickening waves.

“No, don’t get up. You hit your head.” Leo pushed her gently back onto the seat and wrapped her coat more tightly around her. "Stay lying down till the paramedics get here.”

“They’re not here yet?” That was bizarre.

“One of the limos avoided the crash. It took the President, Abbey, Josh, Charlie, and some of the agents to the hospital.”

CJ tried again to lift her head and upper body; pain stabbed through her. She groaned and pressed a hand to her ribs.

“I told you to stay still,” Leo insisted, laying a quelling hand on her shoulder. He turned in response to a muffled shout and called out, “She’s hurt but not badly.”

“Where's Toby?” she asked, suddenly realizing she was alone in the car. “And Sam?”

“They're checking in with the guys on the press bus right now. Just relax. An ambulance should be here any minute.”

“No, I need to know how my guys are.” 

“I told you, Sam and Toby are--”

“I need to know NOW.” She tried to rise again and Leo hastily pushed her back.

“Okay, spitfire, hold on. I’ll get one of them over here to talk to you. In the mean time, DON’T MOVE!” He rose and walked off into the falling snow, limping slightly.

Inaction was not an option. She took quick stock of her surroundings, trying to figure out where she could safely put her hands so as not to impale herself on broken glass. She thought she finally had it figured out and was about to attempt to stand when she heard her name being called in a tone of increasing consternation. 

Danny's voice. She was so glad to hear it that she immediately called back in response.

“Danny, I'm in here!” She tried to look out the back window and realized simultaneously that there WAS no back window anymore and that it really did hurt to move. She grimaced impatiently. “Are you okay?” she called, hoping he'd find her by the sound of her voice.

His face came into her field of vision as he knelt next to the open door. “I'm fine." He took quick stock of her. "You’re hurt, baby. Are the paramedics coming?"

“Leo said they are." CJ craned her neck to get a better look at him. "You majored in journalism, not medicine; how do you know I'm hurt?”

“The way you’re breathing. I know broken ribs when I see it.” He pushed chunks of shattered safety glass away, then took off his coat and draped it over her. "Plus, you know, I got beaten up a lot in school.” He grimaced when that made CJ both laugh and wince. “Sorry, sorry, shouldn't have made you laugh. Just stay calm.”

“Why is it taking the ambulances so long to get here?” she asked, shifting and trying hard not to show how badly the movement hurt.

“There’s a lot of black ice and more snow is starting to fall.” Danny touched her cheek and his fingers came away tipped in blood. “You’ll be the first to get loaded in.”

“I'm fine, seriously," she bluffed. "It's not that bad.”

“Wait until those bruises start forming. You’re going to be black and blue and sore as hell.”

“You know, I have to be on camera in less than 24 hours...you're not exactly inspiring confidence.”

“Oh, I have a feeling Leo will have Henry doing the briefings, at least until you get the stitches out of your face.”

CJ’s hand flew to her face where she was only now noticing a tearing pain high up on her cheekbone.

“Oh my God! Is it that bad?”

Danny pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it to the side of her face. His hand was cold but the contact felt good, so she didn’t comment. The endearment he'd let slip–“baby”– was still echoing in her head.

There was a sudden flash of strobes and a loud series of clicks. CJ knew the sound of cameras all too well. Instinctively she threw up the arm not holding her ribs to shield her face.

“CJ?”

“Danny!”

“CJ, can you tell us what happened--“

“Danny, what happened on the bus--–“

“CJ, are you–“

“Danny, what kind of–“

“Hey, hey, enough!” Danny yelled into the storm of camera flashes. “She’s hurt, back off!”

“CJ!”

“Hell, no, people, we do NOT work like this.” Danny looked terrifically angry. “This isn’t open season on the Kardashians!" he thundered. "Back the hell off of CJ NOW or I start breaking cameras.”

With grumbles and mild protestations, the crowd of photographers began to disperse. The strobes disappeared and CJ cautiously opened her eyes.

“Please tell me those weren't our guys.”

“Some. A lot of them were from the local newspapers, though. Presidential motorcade carnage makes for good disaster porn.”

“Great response time,” CJ muttered. “The press gets here before the paramedics.”

“Not for long,” Danny said. “I see red and blues.”

A moment later a gurney was clattering over the icy pavement. A burly EMT with a kind looking face peeked around the corner of the toppled limo.

“Hi, I’m Dennis. The gentleman out there told me you’re CJ.”

“Yes, I am.” CJ tried for a smile. “I’d shake your hand but it hurts to move.”

“Well, that's a good place to start. Why don't you tell me what hurts?”

They went through a barrage of questions, CJ answering what she could and Danny filling in both what he knew from Leo and what he’d seen from the press bus. The President’s limo, holding Abbey, Leo, and Charlie had skidded out on a patch of black ice but come to a relatively safe halt after side-swiping a tree. The second limo with CJ, Sam, Toby, and Josh had tried to avoid hitting the President’s limo, a steering maneuver that resulted in the car flipping onto its right side. Josh, not belted because he’d been fixing himself a glass of water, had hit the privacy glass, shattering it and separating his collarbone from his shoulder. CJ, belted in on the left side of the car, had been cut by the flying glass and ended up briefly suspended with her seat belt cinched under her ribs, until Sam, relatively uninjured and in a moment of cool-headed quick thinking, released the seat belt and eased her to the floor.

The driver of the press bus had reacted well. He’d tapped the brakes, sending the bus into a controlled skid, which resulted in the bus knocking the back end of the second limo and sending it spinning into the middle of the road. The bus hadn’t tipped, thanks to his quick thinking, and most of the press corps was merely shaken with some minor cuts and bruises.

“Let’s go ahead and get you to the hospital, Ms. Cregg,” Dennis said, closing up his kit. “You’ll need a CAT scan to check you for a concussion.”

“I’m fine,” CJ protested. “Really. I just need an ice pack and maybe a Tylenol.” She started to sit up and moaned softly when her head swam.

“You need the hospital,” Danny insisted. “You’re going, honey, whether you like it or not.”

Dennis grinned at their bickering as he radioed another medic for help moving CJ onto the gurney. “Are you her husband?”

CJ snorted. “He only wishes.”

Danny’s “she only wishes!” (made at exactly the same moment) was sarcastic but his accompanying touch to her forehead held so much tenderness that it momentarily took her breath away.

Dennis grinned. “Marty, help me get this lovely lady onto a gurney, please.”

Danny held her hand as the two medics lifted her onto the gurney, then helped them carry it away from the toppled limo and onto the road. It was snowing hard and fast, and the ice was still thick on the roadways. Someone had scattered salt, and it crunched under the wheels as they made their slow way to the waiting ambulance.

“Danny?” CJ whispered shyly as the medics were loading her in.

“I’m right here.”

“Will you come with me?”

“You know it.” He glanced back at the wreck of the car. “You need anything from in there? Purse? Notes? Phone?”

“My shoulder bag should be in there somewhere. Do you mind?”

“Not at all. Back in a flash.”

She closed her eyes against the cold and the snow and the lights from the ambulance. She drifted off for a few moments; Toby, Sam, and Leo’s voices were somewhere nearby but she was suddenly too tired to open her heavy eyelids to check where they were. She was cognizant enough to take in that the ambulance was moving, then that the gurney was indoors and moving down a brightly lit hallway, and that someone was holding her hand and refusing to let go.

***

Danny watched CJ sleep under a light sedative while the doctor stitched her cheek. He was glad she wasn’t awake for it--no stranger to stitches himself, he knew the pull of the needle could be maddening. Despite a blanket, she was still pale from either cold or shock... as CJ pointed out, he has gone to college for journalism, not medicine. He touched her forehead, smoothed back a strand of hair.

“How’s she doing?” Leo asked, peering into the ER cubicle. Toby was hovering behind him.

“She's got a mild concussion from her head hitting the window and severely bruised ribs. She needed six stitches for the cut on her cheek." Danny stepped back from CJ and nearer the two men. "What's the damage on your end?"

“Not as bad as it could be. The President’s fine. He’s fussing over Abbey and her ankle. Sam’s sitting with Josh, who’s having his collarbone repaired.”

“Can we--can I see her?” Toby asked from behind Leo, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Yeah, of course,” Danny replied, surprised at having been asked. He moved aside to let Toby stand over CJ, touched at the way the gruff communications director seemed to soften when he looked at the lanky press secretary.

“Claudia Jean?" Toby slid his hand into hers. "You okay?"

CJ blinked and murmured, “I hate it when you call me by my full name.”

“Why do you think I did it?" He gave her an affectionate smile and squeezed her hand. "You okay?”

“My head feels like someone took a jackhammer to it. Can you lower the lights?"

“Yeah." He hit the dimmer switch and the room darkened. “Any better?” At her affirmative nod, he prompted, “How do you feel otherwise?”

“Like hell,” CJ admitted. “How about you? Were you hurt?”

"Nah, my head's harder than yours.”

“We all knew that." She gave him a small smile. "How’s the President?”

“He’s fine. He’s taking care of the First Lady.”

“How about all my press guys?”

“They’re all fine. They’re in the hotel for the night.” He ran his thumb over her knuckles. “Get some rest. Don't cause too much trouble.”

“They should all be so lucky to get my caliber of trouble." CJ turned her head slightly. "Is Danny...?"

“I’m right here.” Danny slid his hand into her free one. “Do you need something?”

“I just wondered if you were here.” Her eyes drifted closed again as he answered:

“I’m not going anywhere.”

***

One of the perks of being a member of the President’s entourage is that you got outstanding service wherever you went. When the manager of the local Barnes and Noble got word that the President and his staff needed a diversion as well as a good cup of coffee, he was more than happy to open the bookstore and staff it with a few sleepy-looking associates, especially after Leo’s promise that the President rarely left a bookstore without spending quite a bit of money.

The President wandered Barnes and Noble with the Secret Service, shopping for books for both himself and the First Lady. It was like therapy, Danny overheard him explaining to an agent-- books soothed the soul. As the President tended to surround himself with intellectuals who all loved a book as much as he did, the senior staff had no problem partaking of their own forms of “therapy” as they awaited their colleagues discharge from the hospital.

Danny browsed the stacks for himself and for CJ. Up in the gift section, he found a stuffed flamingo wearing a floppy fisherman’s hat and a Hawaiian shirt, an item so out of place in snowy New Hampshire he was half tempted to find a salesperson and comment on it. He promptly bought it, as well as a small stack of paperbacks and tucked the goofy looking bird into bed beside CJ when he arrived back at the hospital.

***

“Am I hallucinating or is there a flamingo in my bed?” CJ muttered.

Danny’s head shot up and he glanced quickly around the room, taking stock of his surroundings. It was early morning and CJ was blinking blearily at him from the hospital bed.

“Hey, there." He stood, stretching out the aches a night in the hospital chair had given him, and crossed to her bedside. "Yes, there is a flamingo in your bed. He heard about your accident and thought you might want some company.”

“Where did you find a flamingo in New Hampshire in the dead of winter?”

“Oh, I can't reveal my sources,” Danny dead-panned. He picked up the bird and turned it over in his hands. “I think I might get him a trench coat to replace the Hawaiian shirt.”

“You really are insane, aren’t you?” CJ laughed softly. “Come here.”

Danny leaned in and CJ wrapped a hand around the back of his neck. She kissed him gently, her fingers tightening as he slowly deepened the kiss until they both groaned. He was half-tempted to climb onto the bed with her but managed to quell the impulse. At the sound of footsteps in the hall, CJ pushed him away gently and leaned back on the pillows.

“Ah, CJ, you’re awake! Good!” The President strode in and leaned over to kiss CJ on the forehead. “How are you, kid?”

“I’m fine, sir, and you?”

“Don’t ‘I’m fine, sir’ me, Claudia Jean Cregg. You certainly do not fit the definition of fine.” He sat companionably on the edge of her bed. “I see Danny’s taking good care of you.”

“Yes, sir. He brought me a flamingo.”

The President examined the bird and laughed. “You really know how to win a woman’s heart, don’t you, Danny?”

“Working on it, sir.”

"You just keep trying, son." He gave Danny a quick wink. "Now, CJ, perhaps we need to discuss what’s going to happen over the next few days.”

“Yes, sir. I can set up a briefing in the hotel lobby for--"

“You’ll do no such thing. You look like hell– no offense– and there’s no way I want the country seeing my Press Secretary looking like she came out on the wrong end of a barroom brawl. No, CJ, you, Joshua, and Miss Abigail are going to sit your posteriors at the ski lodge in Stoneybrook, recovering on the taxpayer’s dollar. We’ll benefit from your wealth of experience and you won’t have to do anything but ask for more hot cocoa.”

“Sir, I really am--”

“CJ, I know you hate to appear fragile but let me take this opportunity to remind you, as someone who knows first-hand, that the human body is not indestructible. Don’t push yourself. Now, take the time I’m giving you to slow down– unless you want me to order you to slow down, which I can and will do.”

“Jed, stop bullying the poor woman, she’s been through enough.”

Charlie wheeled Abbey in from the hallway. Her ankle was again wrapped in a plaster cast. “Can you believe it? I’m the only person klutzy enough to break my ankle getting _out_ of a car accident.”  She smiled at CJ. “Let me put it to you this way, CJ. If I have to sit and behave myself, you have to sit and behave yourself.”

“Mrs. Bartlet--”

“The only thing I fully authorize you to do is to kick the ever-living hell out of anyone in our press corps who decided to run that irresponsible photograph. It’s shoddy, tabloid level reporting and they should all know better.”

“Which irresponsible photograph?” CJ asked.

Abbey raised a hand to her mouth. She glanced at her husband. “You didn’t tell her?”

“She’s recovering, Abbey, I didn’t want her to worry.” The President shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, CJ. Toby’s taking care of it.”

“Taking care of what?” CJ asked, trying to sit up. She winced but kept going, sitting all the way up in bed to look at the knot of people at her bedside.

“This,” Charlie said matter-of-factly, pulling a newspaper from his overcoat pocket.

It was the New Hampshire Union-Leader and it featured a picture of CJ in the wreckage of the limo, the gash on her cheek livid in a face that was pale and lined with pain. Danny was visible next to her, his hand on her cheek. The caption read, “Reporter Danny Concannon shields girlfriend CJ Cregg, White House Press Secretary, from reporters after a motorcade crash Tuesday night.”

“Oh my God!” CJ stared at the picture. “How the hell could they run this? And with that caption?”

“There’s this thing called free press--” Charlie commented, then quickly shut his mouth when CJ turned to glower at him. “– which you all ready know about since you’re a very intelligent woman.”

“That is a totally unsubstantiated rumor!” CJ shrilled, shaking the paper. “Danny is not my boyfriend.”

“He brings you flamingoes,” Charlie said quietly, which warranted a jab in the ribs from the First Lady. “Sorry, ma’am.”

“They’re not talking about the flamingoes, they’re talking about the fact that he’s got his hand on my face and he’s yelling at reporters to stay the hell away from me.”

“It’s slightly more than that,” Danny commented from where he’d been reading over her shoulder. “‘EMT Dennis Munson reported that Cregg was alert and feisty, arguing with Concannon over the need for a hospital visit. When asked if Concannon was in a position to make decisions for her should it become necessary, Cregg and Concannon both replied, “He/she only wishes!’”

“The comedic stylings of Concannon and Cregg, everyone” the President said, chuckling.

“I was in severe pain when I said that!” CJ exclaimed. “I shouldn’t be held responsible for anything I say or do when I’m incapacitated.”

Danny laughed softly. “CJ, what’s really irking you– the fact that it’s irresponsible reporting or that someone presumed to label the two of us?”

“There is no ‘two of us,’ Danny!” CJ replied. “We’re not an item, even if you do bring me flamingoes and sit with me all night in the hospital and…” She looked at the group around her bedside. “Could I have the room, please? I’d like to finish arguing with the weirder half of my comedy duo!”

The President, Abbey, and Charlie all made a swift exit, shutting the door behind them.

“So,” Danny said, grinning. “I think Concannon/Cregg is a great name for a comedy team.”

CJ rolled her eyes and flopped back on her pillows. “I don’t even know how to respond to that.”

“Laugh. Not so much that you hurt your ribs, but laugh all the same. It really is kind of funny.”

“Funny? It’s funny that the President’s motorcade accident was bigger news than the campaign stops? It’s funny that a senior member of the White House has just been labeled as dating someone on her staff?”

“You know, I’m not technically on your staff…”

“It’s funny that someone took pictures of me when I was hurt and vulnerable and that they can get away with it because we’re a damn free press? That’s funny?”

Danny shook his head. “No, it really isn’t, but there’s not much that’s going to change so the best thing to do is either laugh about it or burst into tears. I’d prefer that you laughed– I hate seeing you cry.”

“Danny, they said you’re my _boyfriend_!”

“I prefer the term _paramour_. Sounds much sexier.”

“But you’re not!”

“No, I’m not." Danny took her hand. “But you know I want to be. Look, CJ, I know how you feel about this, about us, okay? I get it. But here’s the thing you were dreading– having us named in public, forced to walk around with scarlet C’s on our chests– and it isn’t so bad. Everyone is vaguely amused and it will pass. I wish you’d stop worrying so much and just, I don’t know, go with it.”

CJ laughed softly. “Scarlet C, literary genius? It was a scarlet A.”

“C for Concannon. For Cregg. For consenting adult.” He crooked an eyebrow at her. “C for concubine, though that’s just my preference.” He lifted her hand and placed a gentle kiss on her palm before giving her another on the inside of her wrist. “C for caress. Getting the picture?”

CJ smiled, her face starting to flush. “Oh yeah. Getting it.”

“C for calm. Okay? Stop worrying. _Que sera sera_ , right? Look, we’ll get you discharged from here, we’ll head over to the ski lodge. You and Dr. Bartlet and Josh can rest and heal in peace, I’ll bring _all_ of you hot chocolate, and when you’re feeling better, I’ll help you kick the press corps’ collective ass for irresponsible, tabloid-level journalism.”

CJ considered for a moment. “C for Copacabana Concannon?”

Danny laughed and squeezed her hand. “If that’s what makes you happy.”

CJ let a real smile shine across her face. “Yes. It makes me happy."

END


End file.
